Priceless: Invaluable
by KristieConspiracy
Summary: Outtakes and bonuses that don't quite fit in with the main Priceless plot. Featuring all of Harrys classmates from every house, marriage law AU. 1: Reworked Madam Malkins PS scene. 2-5: first impressions of the matches (4/4 houses done)
1. Madam Malkins

Later, Draco would be incredibly disappointed with himself for not recognising the black-haired boy. As it was, he wasn't impressed the first time he came face to face with him: a scrawny, underfed child, eyes like the emeralds that adorned half the objects around the Manor. The robe Madam Malkin draped over the other child seemed several sizes too big, making him look like a child dressing up in his fathers' clothes. Draco almost felt bad for him, but he knew the stranger wouldn't starve at Hogwarts. _If that is where he's going. _"Hullo. Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes." His voice was unimpressive, timid, one of confusion. It was actually very similar to the tone Narcissa sometimes adopted when Lucius lost his temper.

"My father's next door buying my books," _not that he wants to be. _His father hadn't wanted much to do with him in years, ever since the marriage law was created in 1988. "And mother's up the street looking at wands." That part was something Draco was really looking forward to: vine? walnut? unicorn tail hair or phoenix feather? "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first-years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father," _mother_, "into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow. Have you got your own broom?"

"No." This boy was turning out to be incredibly dull and rather clueless. _Raised as a muggle_, Draco guessed. Poor boy.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No." _Definitely raised as a muggle._

"I do. Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree." That was a lie; Lucius Malfoy hadn't said anything complimentary to his son for years. "Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No."

While Draco knew that it was cruel to remind the other boy that he was unfamiliar with the world he was about to enter. But his foot was already in his mouth; there wasn't really anything he could say to fix it. He could see in the boys eyes that he didn't know what to think, and still, Draco pushed the subject. "Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I already know I'll be in Slytherin. All my family has been - but imagine being in Hufflepuff! I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm."

"I say, look at that man!"

"Oh," blurted the other child, "That's Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh, I've heard of _him_. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?" He was picturing the gardener who cared for the extensive Malfoy gardens, with a beard almost as messy as this 'Hagrid' fellows'.

"He's the gamekeeper."

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of oddity - lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed." Something his mother told stories about, when she was alone with her son and not being watched by outsiders. Narcissa loved to laugh, and repeating the silly gossip from the rubbish reports Lucius sometimes read often allowed her to do so.

"I think he's brilliant."

"Do you? Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead."

"Oh. Sorry." Draco couldn't imagine not having his parents, or at least the idea of them being readily accessible. That was why he didn't sound at all apologetic; because he couldn't sympathise. "They were like us, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

"No, I mean an arranged marriage. Imagine _not_ having that, it must be awful, all that misery like in those muggle books, pining after someone who is chasing someone else. And starting Hogwarts with no idea what it is, imagine. It's cruel to let in anyone who doesn't know, isn't it?"

The other boy never answered, his gaping cut off when the stout witch patted his arm. "That's you done, my dear."

"Well," Draco drawled, not certain of how he could make it any better or any worse, "I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose." _From a distance_.

"Arranged marriage?" he thought he heard the black haired boy repeat as he left. He must have been completely oblivious.

_A very significant distance._

* * *

**Characters: **Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter

**Word count: **719

**A/N: **This is not an outtake _per se_, more a scene I didn't think about until after the timespot it'd slot into had already been written. The thing about the marriage law AU is, it isn't a big deal to Draco. He was 8 years old when it first came up, and it wasn't a big deal at the time - it was just a way out of spending time with Pansy. He wouldn't be much different, except Narcissa would've stopped exposing him to anti-muggleborn sentiments, instead trying to enforce the idea that a marriage that isn't arranged is bizarre. Anyway, this would be between _o1: become one_ and _o2: energy of sun_.


	2. First Impressions: Ravenclaw boys

**Priceless**

The marriage law exists. Students were randomly paired of, mixed with their peers, pureblood to non-pureblood. The Ravenclaw boys were just like everyone else, and this was something they were about to see.

* * *

**Terry Boot and Megan Jones**

"Terry Boot."

He was a half-blood, born and bred. His father, a teacher earlier in life, had taught him to fish and camp and do arithmetic beside the river behind the house he and his two younger siblings grew up in. His mother had taught him to meditate and control his magic. He'd had a great education, all from home in Ireland. He was quiet and respectful, patient and determined.

Now, he'd heard about the marriage law for the first time when he'd gone to Diagon Alley with his mum, age eleven. There'd been a protest just outside Gringotts, mothers mostly, complaining about children getting married to strangers. He hadn't realised at the time that it would apply to him - that came with Hogwarts, and it didn't really hit home until McGonagall took him away from History of Magic. And they'd been almost up to learning about the Gargoyle Strike of 1911!

He was half-blooded and fascinated with everything, and his dad didn't even know he was at Hogwarts.

"And Megan Jones."

She was a pureblood, and she was eager to meet her match. She wanted to do everything: play Quidditch and master Charms and yes, memorise the facts about the Gargoyle Strike, even though Professor Binns tended to blither on. She had curly hair and olive skin that was covered in freckles and her ears were pierced nine times altogether. She loved politics and could talk about it for hours, except nobody else cared so she never bothered.

She took one look at Terry Boot - who seemed at least a little African, at least a little intelligent, and at least a little tall - and decided he would annoy her. He was a know-it-all braggart in class, _always_ answering unasked questions.

She would find a way to _win_ this, though.

* * *

**Michael Corner and Lavender Brown**

"Michael Corner."

He was half-blood, his mum a football zealot and his dad a Quidditch devotee. He was raised on the belief that sports were the lifeblood of humanity - that thrill that runs through a crowd when a player gets a goal? Him and his three siblings, two older girls and a younger boy, they _lived_ for that energy. The Appleby Arrows and Carlisle United were the inarguable best teams in both leagues, regardless of statistics.

Blonde-haired, dark-eyed Michael liked words too, and words led him to books, which in turn directed him to Ravenclaw. Even though the mascot was an eagle. Now, _what_ was that about?

"And Lavender Brown."

She was pureblooded and pretty, even if her hair could get a little frizzy. Arrogant and flawless and an only child, her best friends were her pet rabbit and Parvati Patil, who liked gossip almost as much as she did. Which was good, because after today, there was going to be so much new gossip!

_Wait, did she just call me?_

She looked over Michael Corner, frowning slightly. _Michael Corner, Michael Corner_. Now _how_ did she know that name?

Oh! "You're that boy that almost fell out of the stands at Harry's first match!"

He folded his arms. "_You're_ that busybody Gryffindor who manages to manufacture an incredible amount of ire in absolutely everyone she meets!"

Lavender gaped openly at him, the word _what_ not quite falling out of her mouth. Michael grinned.

"Ha! I can be impolite and assiduously unlikable, too, Flower."

"What does _assiduous_ mean, 'painful and overly difficult'?"

"Actually, it means 'constant'. Understandable error, considering your blatant disregard for actual intelligence."

She tilted her head, her frizzy mess of hair falling over her shoulders. "Not bad. But my name is Lavender."

"I think 'Flower' suits you better."

* * *

**Kevin Entwhistle and Daphne Greengrass**

"Kevin Entwhistle."

He hadn't known about Hogwarts before getting the acceptance letter. He had a face like a brick, his mum and dad had split up and he was tossed back and forth between the two like a bomb that was only seconds away from blowing up and killing everyone around. He had accepted right away the idea that maybe he was magic, because first, it would be awesome, and second, anything was better than being the child nobody wanted.

"And Daphne Greengrass."

She'd been waiting to get her letter since she was six years old. She looked like an angel, with blue eyes, a nice smile and long blonde hair.

But she could turn from cheerful to vindictive in an instant, faster than the flip of a switch. She was cold and detached, and she took one look at Kevin Entwhistle and his soft smile, obviously not deliberate, and wondered if he was stupid.

A part of her did no such thing. That part of her was jealous of his small world, this non-pureblood Ravenclaw urchin, who didn't have to worry about ancient pureblood values bred into the family.

"My name is Daphne Greengrass. It's a pleasure to meet you, Kevin Entwhistle."

He laughed at that, his smile growing, this time deliberately. "I know who you are, Daphne Greengrass. You're the Slytherin. And it's not a pleasure to meet me."

_The _Slytherin? What did _that_ mean? "How so?"

"I have ears, don't I? Everyone talks about the pretty Slytherin."

She did not blush. "I meant the 'pleasure' thing, Entwhistle."

"Kevin. And no one wants to meet me."

She felt her perception of him shift from disdain to curiosity. "Why do you say that?"

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

_Oh, I am _going_ to work this out_. That was her oath.

* * *

**Anthony Goldstein and Amanda Brocklehurst**

"Anthony Goldstein."

This wasn't right. It couldn't be right. The Torah clearly said that one should marry their _bashert_, their soul mate. Could that even be dictated by a Ministry Law, passed by some bigot politician who couldn't possibly have known any better?

His father and mother were both practicing Jews, and so was he and his sister. And this was _kiddushin_. _Kiddushin_ to a stranger! Well, traditionally that was what _kiddushin_ was, but not any more, not since - since - _what year was it? _He dragged his fingers through his hair, frowning heavily.

"And Amanda Brocklehurst."

She was calmer, with blonde hair - mostly - and the same yellow eyes as her great-grandmother, the flying instructor. She'd been expecting this since Rolanda had first come back from Hogwarts after the marriage law had been passed and she'd eavesdropped on the conversation the woman had with her daughter, who was Amanda's grandmother. 'Awful', she'd said, 'absolutely awful, all those children expected to marry strangers!'

Anthony's mind was still churning. Would he be required to go through _nisuin _with her? Would an _aliyah_ apply? If it didn't, would he be able to face his parents again? And, oh dear, what about the _ketubah_? Did he have to deal with that?

"Hellooo," said the girl, dragging out the greeting and waving her hand slightly. "Shake my hand, Tony."

"My name is Anthony, Miss Amanda," he corrected automatically, doing as told.

"Well, you look like a Tony. Call me Mandy."

"Okay, Miss Mandy."

"_Just_ Mandy."

He frowned. "But Miss Mandy sounds more respectable, doesn't it?"

"Whatever, Tony, just don't overuse it."

"How much is overuse?"

"Three times per day."

He winced. "Allow ten."

"_Three_."

"Eight?"

"Four."

"Seven."

"Five."

"Five, fine. And that's final."

She shook her head, sticking her hand out again. "Five. Deal."

* * *

**Wayne Hopkins and Sophie Roper**

"Wayne Hopkins."

Ravenclaw had six male first-years, just like Hufflepuff, because there were twelve new first-years in each of the so-called lesser houses, and forty-four new first-years at Hogwarts in 1991. He liked numbers, and so far he didn't really like Hogwarts. He missed the complex number systems taught in maths at his muggle school. He missed lists and facts and theories that couldn't be argued. Magic wasn't like that: magical theory was guesswork. He _hated_ guesses.

So, yes, he was strange. The son of a half-blood Pakistani wizard and one of his many one night stands picked up at the Leaky Cauldron, he'd known he was a wizard forever, and he didn't really care. He just missed math and wanted to be able to take Arithmancy as a subject.

"And Sophie Roper."

Sophie Roper was the twelfth student sorted into Ravenclaw that year. She had been a hatstall, it taking exactly six minutes and twenty-two seconds for the Hat to choose between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Not a record, by any means, but a decent effort in making things difficult. She had auburn hair and freckles and she wasn't quite sure what percentage of her family had been Afro-French, but it darkened her features past Caucasian norms.

On top of that, she was shy and short, though her family was mostly tall so there was about a fifty percent chance she'd hit a growth spurt in a few years. She was clumsy and uncoordinated and she almost landed in the arms of her Transfiguration partner and Ministry-approved match Wayne Hopkins when she stubbed her toe on the perfectly flat floor and almost hit the floor. And yet part of her wished she _had_ tripped, because then she could estimate his reaction speed.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi. Transfiguration homework?"

"Yes, tonight."

* * *

**Hamlin Mauricius and Fay Dunbar**

"Hamlin Mauricius."

His dark hair needed to be cut but he had refused to do so over Christmas. His reasoning was perfectly considered, not that his mother asked: the Mauricius family were criminals - his father had served eight years in Azkaban so far - and he didn't want to be identified by the Mauricius family eyes, the same near-black set that always, _always_, squinted at everything: the sky, the wall, his peers. He had his own crosses to bear, so to speak, but he preferred to bear them alone.

"And Fay Dunbar."

She looked more like a pixie than a witch, except that she had hair and her eyes were slightly smaller than the Cornish variety. Her hair was not quite red and her eyes were not quite blue, and there was ink smudged across her bottom lip as she smiled at Hamlin. "So Haylin, huh?"

He grunted. She pouted.

"Be nice. We're meant to be together."

He peered at her from beneath his hair, which was just the right length for hiding this, and he looked away just as quickly. "You shouldn't be talking to me." His voice was barely more than a murmur.

"Says you, Haylin." She pronounced it wrong, actually, _Hay-lin_ instead of _Ham-lin_, and he didn't understand why she did so. It wasn't a hard name, a _Ham_ and a _Lin_ and that was that. "Only you're not the boss of me, are you?"

"Aren't I?"

"Nope, not at all, Haylin" she said, and grinned. "And I'm going to work out how to get inside your head. Just you wait, Haylin."

"It's Hamlin. Not Haylin."

"That's what I said. Haylin."

"Hamlin. _M_. As in _ham_."

"Yeah, that's what I said. _Hay_. _Haylin_."

"You _have_ to be doing that on purpose."

"Was that an emotion I heard, Haylin?"

* * *

**Word count: **300 each, 1500 total.

**A/N: **I really do have a list of who got paired with who (though I know nothing about Jewish traditions, and I admit all of the things Anthony's stressing over is sourced from a website.  
I also have a list of actors I would use photos of to create an image for each student in a yearbook. If you care, read the following list, otherwise, feel free to ignore.

1\. **Terry Boot** / half-blood / Will Demps - **Megan Jones** / pureblood / Alia Shawkat  
2\. **Michael Corner** / half-blood / Brenton Thwaites (blonde) - **Lavender Brown** / pureblood / Tamsin Egerton (as Katrina, _Eragon_)  
3\. **Kevin Entwhistle** / muggle-born / Josh Hutcherson (brunette) - **Daphne Greengrass** / pureblood / Elsa Hosk  
4\. **Anthony Goldstein **/ half-blood / Sterling Beaumon - **Amanda Brocklehurst** / pureblood / Hannah Murray (blonde)  
5\. **Wayne Hopkins** / half-blood / Zayn Malik - **Sophie Roper** / pureblood / Jade Thompson  
6\. **Hamlin Mauricius** / pureblood / Ezra Miller - **Fay Dunbar** / muggle-born / Rachel Hurd-Wood


	3. First Impressions: Slytherin boys

**Priceless**

The marriage law exists. Students were randomly paired off, mixed with their peers, pureblood to non-pureblood. The Slytherin boys would be shoved in with a mix of everyone else, and how they took that was up to them.

* * *

**Vincent Crabbe and Sally-Anne Perks**

"Vincent Crabbe."

He was big for his age, taller and wider than most of the other first-years. Curly dark hair, squared features and blue-grey eyes made up his face: he would look like a wrestler later, but for now he looked like a bully and felt hungry. But that's what he got for eating breakfast with Greg before everyone else, wasn't it? That's what he got for coaching his friend in hand-to-hand sparring.

"And Sally-Anne Perks."

She was tiny, the first of the Hufflepuff Sally's. She looked kind of like her mum, who was from Ethiopia, but she'd always have her dads height, which was less than five and a half feet. She was a midget, basically, but the other Sally was built like her, so she wasn't alone. And they hadn't been picked on much for it, not like she had as a child at primary school in Dublin. So she liked Hogwarts quite a bit.

Except for this marriage law.

She was muggle-born, built like a pixie but a little heavier than the other Sally. She'd grown up on dreams of a prince and a throne that she would be awarded with when she grew up enough, when she reached an age to be magically touched by a fairy godmother like in Cinderella or kissed by a prince like Snow White.

"Hello," she offered shyly, tempted to hide her face. _Remember what the therapist said. Stand tall, stay strong, don't falter. _

_Never falter._

"Mm," grunted the gigantic Slytherin. He was grimacing. She really hoped it wasn't because of her, because that would be absolutely perfect, wouldn't it?

Then his stomach growled, and she blinked. She cracked a smile, a tiny smile. "Hungry?"

"'M starving."

"We only just ate."

"_You_ might've. I was busy."

She laughed quietly. "Fair enough."

* * *

**Gregory Goyle and Sally Smith**

"Gregory Goyle."

He wasn't attractive, he was a Slytherin. He looked like he'd be more at home on the front lines of a war than he was in a classroom, and yet he was only eleven years old. He was bigger than everyone else, even bigger than his mate Vincent, and that was fine with him.

He used the word 'mate' to define what he called him, but that's not what they were. Vince was submissive, didn't like thinking things through. He'd rather be on one of his hiking trips or beating up a punching bag, something he could do by himself. He _needed_ Greg, needed him or he'd be just another background player at Hogwarts. At least this way, he had the respect he deserved.

"And Sally Smith."

She was tiny, just like the first Sally, Hufflepuff and muggle-born and isolated from other students. She wasn't as shy as Sally-Ann, but was far from fearless: she knew all about Crabbe and Goyle, the Slytherin bullies. They were downright _awful_, evil things who would beat and insult. It took all her self control to keep from flinching away from him.

She couldn't stop her fingers from twitching, though. The bully smelled like bacon and toast and hash-browns, and now she wanted free reign in the kitchens. Cooking always calmed her, the hobby a kind of therapy. Her mum had taught her that all through her childhood. _Cooking soothes the soul and warms the heart_. Wiser words were never spoken, so far as Sally was concerned.

"What're you meant to be, a Weasley?"

She grimaced, swallowing nervously. "_No_. I'm muggle-born, Goyle. Not some idiotic Weasley. Sally Smith." She told herself that she didn't stammer as she spoke.

"Not bad, Smith. You've got fire."

She wasn't sure what to think of that.

* * *

**Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger**

"Draco Malfoy."

He was sitting beside her and didn't move when his name was called. It wasn't that he didn't care about _her_, it was more that he knew her already: how important she was, how clever and cunning and unique. She was the epitome of imperfection and everything that wasn't _Malfoy_, and it was through this that she caught his eye at the start. This and books.

"And Hermione Granger."

She was sitting beside him and looked up when her name was called, meeting the gaze of McGonagall and pretending she hadn't recognised the pity in her gaze. Because she'd seen that look before, that dread, that misery, that _pity_. It was the same look students gave her when she won another award, the one teachers gave when they spotted her holding another book, the one her parents gave her when she was heading upstairs right after school because she had more homework, more books, more loneliness.

She glanced over at him to see if he had noticed, but he wasn't even looking at her. He was staring at his fingers, twisting them around his wand.

Blonde, silver-eyed and tall, he was mysterious and arrogant, like every prince from every story her mum had ever told her. And there she was, bushy haired, buck toothed and just so _generic_. Except for her mind. Her mind was her greatest weapon, the thing that made her different, and she couldn't imagine anyone ever beating her on that front.

And so she sat with Draco Malfoy, and she challenged him and befriended him and pretended like she wanted to be forced to wed him. Because she hadn't belonged anywhere, ever, and this would be the first time she ever had. Not that he knew she thought of him like that.

She hoped.

* * *

**Theodore Nott and Cassie Runcorn**

"Theodore Nott."

He was a joker, Slytherin or not. _Nott_. That was why he was Slytherin: because he was a Nott, and all Notts were Slytherins. But not all Notts _acted_ like Slytherins, not that anyone outside of Slytherin, aside from Hermione and Longbottom, knew that. To everyone else, he was just another Nott. A crook. A Death Eater. A murderer.

And the look McGonagall gave him, not that she was supposed to judge, said that she saw him for his name and nothing else. Theodore Nott, son of a Death Eater. Son of a murderer. Son of a crook.

"And Cassie Runcorn."

She was Hufflepuff and half-blood, her father a pureblood and her mother muggle-born. He worked at the Ministry and she worked as a healer, and he never ever told anyone that she was anything other than a half-blood. He wasn't _ashamed_, of course, it was to protect her in the event that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named came back. Because he _would_ be back. It was just a matter of when.

She was not paranoid, merely cautious. She may not be pure of blood, but she was plenty proud. She embraced her muggle ancestry, and her favourite class was potions because it related the most to chemistry. She missed microscopes though, microscopes and calculations and predictable, reliable reactions.

If he could see her doing muggle science, he'd coat the eyepiece with ink and leave her with rings around her eyes. He'd hide her results or move all the decimal points over one, because he'd know how crazy it'd drive her. Only he didn't know her, did he? He'd never met her before.

As they eyed each other up, the question on their thoughts were clear. Would they call it even, or would they kill each other?

Only time would tell.

* * *

**Blaise Zabini and Padma Patil**

"Blaise Zabini."

He was dark and foreign, and though his mother was English he had only lived in London for six months. He spoke with more than one accent, fluctuating between Spanish, French and Italian, and his hands were constantly in motion. They danced through the air, across tables and over paper; fingers of an artist. Only he didn't seem artistic, he seemed serious and intelligent and nothing else.

"And Padma Patil."

She looked foreign but wasn't, though her Indian blood was evident in her face. She was quick and clever, one of the best academics in her year. These academics were not her entire life: she played violin like a prodigy, she listened to music whenever a teacher wasn't speaking, she stayed leaps and bounds ahead of her twin in every field she possibly could. If that made her a know-it-all, so be it. She would _not_ lose to Parvati.

Parvati, who got Harry Potter, the infant hero. Parvati, who had friends she could talk to for hours and hours. Parvati, who always buried her foot in her mouth. Parvati, who knew how to make herself look better than Padma but almost never did, because she didn't want to upset her twin.

And Padma got the quiet Slytherin, Blaise Zabini; the one who was close to Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, who had gotten detention together twice before Christmas for talking back to Snape.

She looked him over. He stood tall, though not as tall as the youngest Weasley, and he met her gaze readily. It was his hands that caught her attention, though, his fingers that moved and danced. "What're you doing?"

"Playing piano," he said, blunt. He wasn't ashamed of this; he was good at it.

"I see," she said. After all, she was a secret artist too.

* * *

**Word count: **300 each, 1500 total.

1\. **Vincent Crabbe** / pureblood / Kellan Lutz - **Sally-Ann Perks** / muggleborn / Britne Oldford  
2\. **Gregory Goyle** / pureblood / Tyler Hoechlin - **Sally Smith** / muggleborn / Dakota Blue Richards  
3\. **Draco Malfoy** / pureblood / Tom Felton - **Hermione Granger** / muggleborn / Emma Watson  
4\. **Theodore Nott** / pureblood / Mathias Lauridsen - **Cassie Runcorn** / half-blood / Odeya Rush  
5\. **Blaise Zabini** / half-blood / Simon Webbe - **Padma Patil** / pureblood / Freida Pinto


	4. First Impressions: Gryffindor boys

**Priceless**

The marriage law exists. Students were randomly paired off, mixed with their peers, pureblood to non-pureblood. The Gryffindor boys got thrown into the pit with every other student, and how they reacted was entirely up to them.

* * *

**Seamus Finnigan and Hannah Abbott**

"Seamus Finnigan."

He was a half-blood with a witch for a mum. His Irish accent was more obvious even than Blaise Zabini's. His hair was dirty blonde and his eyes the colour of a tropical ocean, made brighter by the shadows beneath, bruises in his pale face. He had astronomy late on Wednesday, and that ruined his sleeping pattern. Now he couldn't get to sleep until late and he kept getting woken up early, and it was driving him crazy. He was half asleep where he was standing now, swaying on the spot.

"And Hannah Abbott."

She was blonde and had a reputation for naiveté. Her hazel eyes looked over him in concern, though she'd never spoken to him before. She was closer to Neville, who was more interested in Herbology, which she was better at. Seamus was better at charms - though he had set a feather alight during one of his earlier lessons. Now he seemed to be on the verge of collapsing.

"Are you okay? Seamus, you look ill."

"We on first name terms already, Abbott?"

"Oh, be serious," she insisted, reaching out without asking to check his temperature. "You aren't hot."

He frowned. "That hurts."

"It does not! You just don't have a temperature. But you do look like you need to go to the hospital wing."

"I don't need to go to the hospital wing."

"Oh, don't be stubborn. Of course you do!"

He pulled a face at her and she smiled up at him, practically the embodiment of innocence. "For me, Seamus, won't you see the nurse?"

He groaned aloud. "Abbott, don't."

"But who will I spend my life with, if not you?"

"Stop talking like that and I might agree."

She grinned, raising a finger to her lips in a vow of silence.

* * *

**Neville Longbottom and Susan Bones**

"Neville Longbottom."

He wasn't sure how he was going to make up for the lost time in Charms. It wasn't like he could afford to miss a lesson and make it up later, the same way Hermione could - but then again, she was a genius. Compared to her, he was a complete idiot. _Compared to just about anyone_, he corrected miserably.

Brunette and plump, Neville had more confidence issues than sociable people had friends. It wasn't something he was proud of, either, just another fact.

"And Susan Bones."

She was half-blooded and harmless, missing out on Charms as well. The difference was that she didn't dread missing the class - she sat too close to Seamus to think that being near the inevitable flames would be a _good_ thing. A day off was a blessing, not a curse.

But Neville? She wasn't certain she'd actually ever heard him speak beyond a whimper when Seamus had blown up a feather in one of their earlier classes. Usually, she'd drop it. For now, last weeks' explosion was fresh on her mind.

Ah, but wait; Hannah talked about Neville, didn't she? Apparently, the boy was friends with Draco Malfoy. Her aunt Amelia said the Malfoys the worst people around. "But you don't _look_ evil."

"That's because I'm _not_!"

"But you hang around Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. They're bad news."

Much to her surprise, he laughed, his eyes lighting up. "_Hermione_, bad news? Have you ever even spoken to her?"

Susan blinked. "Um."

"I didn't think so. She'is the most obsessive rule follower _ever_, and she turns Draco into that, too."

"Does she really?"

"Yes, she does."

She didn't quite believe his words, but it showed her that he was willing to defend his friends. Maybe he wasn't so bad, after all.

* * *

**Harry Potter and Parvati Patil**

"Harry Potter."

He was probably the most unwilling 'popular' student at Hogwarts. He wasn't even popular in the sense that he had a lot of friends - no, Harry had the misfortune to have the kind of popularity that led to everyone knowing his name, and him not knowing anyone else's.

"And Parvati Patil."

She was one half of a set of twins, less obsessed with originality and victory than her sister, more obsessed with looking perfect, and just as obsessed with what muggles called the _occult_. Of Indian descent, just like Padma, and more reckless than witty, she would one day be obsessed with divination.

She also happened to be one of the few people who knew Harry and, beyond irregular gossiping, didn't like to bother him - unlike pretty much everyone else, she didn't care that he was 'the boy who lived' or whatever other nonsense names people assigned him. Mostly she just paid attention to him because he had ended up paired with her for a Charms project.

Apparently, now she would have to pay a whole lot more attention to him. "You and I, Harry?" She adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "Is this a good thing or a bad thing?"

"It's not _bad_," he answered her, "but it's still an arranged marriage. These never end well in muggle stories."

"At least it's all of us getting a piece of 'not ending well', and not just the two of us. I imagine you're rather used to things not ending well."

"I guess." He frowned at her. Maybe she was more reckless than her sister, but it was no excuse for being more tactless. What he didn't know was that Parvati was the more tactful twin.

When he found out, he wouldn't be pleased.

* * *

**Dean Thomas and Morag MacDougal**

"Dean Thomas."

He was an artist before anything else. In most of his classes he tended to sketch all over his parchment instead of taking notes. The result was that he only had notes for Transfiguration and Potions, the only subjects that could hold his attention.

He knew that if he didn't put his act together, he'd probably fail his first set of exams. His mum would be disappointed if he wrecked his record of passing, his step-dad more so. Especially since he had that arrangement about costs for school and his grades. Dean frowned, looking up at Professor McGonagall. Perhaps this _situation_ would work out in his favour, somehow?

He shook his head, fingers twitching. _Doubtful_. And Seamus certainly didn't have a solution, did he? No, Seamus only had notes from Herbology and History of Magic, the only classes where he couldn't play with fire.

Which reminded him, he needed to ask Hermione for some information on fire-proofing charms.

"And Morag MacDougal."

She was too tall, in her own opinion, like the rest of her magical family. She was alright at basketball, which she didn't mind, but was plenty uncomfortable with her appearance - especially when she got an eyeful of her partner. They looked like opposites, except that he was quite tall, almost as much as her, so perhaps only in colour. She eyed him warily, expecting some borderline offensive comment.

He eyed her Ravenclaw robes and his expression changed to an eager, albeit nervous, smile. "Do you have any notes for fire-proofing charms?"

What kind of question was that? "Of course. Are you going to steal them?"

He grinned sheepishly. "I'm more the kind of guy to _ask_ if you can go over it with me."

She stared at him, bemused and surprised. "You're kidding."

He wasn't.

* * *

**Ronald Weasley and Millicent Bulstrode**

"Ronald Weasley."

He wasn't the sort of person who needed to be introduced more than once. Obnoxious, loud, tall and red-haired, at first glance he wasn't anything more than an awkward, gangly child. Indeed, most of Hogwarts remembered him only for the dirt on his nose on the train. _Bloody hell_, he cursed as yet another Slytherin smirked at him and rubbed their nose. And they wondered why he had an attitude problem, when this was how they addressed him!

He didn't resent missing class, not like Hermione. He didn't even resent the marriage law, even though it was stupid and controlling and really, how did they think it was going to end? Certainly not _well_. This was going to be another experiment that ended badly, and everyone else would see soon enough.

"And Millicent Bulstrode."

She was a Slytherin, and that was what made Ron take back exactly what he had just said to himself. The marriage law was complete garbage, nothing worth enduring. It should be destroyed as soon as possible, because _no way_ was he marrying a _Slytherin_. Plus, she was huge. She was bigger than Neville, and taller, and stronger, not that Ron would admit it, and she could lift him with about as much effort as she gave when she lifted her cat.

"Millicent Bulstrode," he echoed, sounding dazed, "Millicent _bloody_ Bulstrode. Seriously? This isn't a nightmare?"

The girl shot him a glare to rival the ones Hermione occasionally gave when he addressed her directly. McGonagall snapped at him right away, docking points from her own house for his mindless insults. "You will each learn to respect your partners," the Professor hissed, her gaze fixed on Ron more than anyone else.

In Millicent's opinion, it was justified. She didn't want him to hurt her as other students tried to.

* * *

**Word count: **300 each, 1500 total

1\. **Seamus Finnigan** / halfblood / Jake Abel - **Hannah Abbott** / pureblood / Imogen Poots  
2\. **Neville Longbottom** / pureblood / Matthew Lewis - **Susan Bones** / halfblood / Lily Cole  
3\. **Harry Potter** / halfblood / Tom Welling - **Parvati Patil** / pureblood / Deepika Padukone  
4\. **Dean Thomas** / halfblood / Simon Webbe - **Morag MacDougal** / pureblood / Saoirse Ronan  
5\. **Ronald Weasley** / pureblood / Rupert Grint - **Millicent Bulstrode** / halfblood / Misha Hart

**A/N:** Sorry I'm so late with updating everything. March got hectic. I know where I want to go with the next chapter of _Snakeskin_, I just need time to write it first.


	5. First Impressions: Hufflepuff boys

**Priceless**

The marriage law exists. Students were randomly paired off, mixed with their peers, pureblood to non-pureblood. The Hufflepuff boys have found themselves on the same page as everyone else, and whether they know themselves or not, they each find their own ways to cope.

* * *

**Stephen Cornfoot and Tracey Davis**

"Stephen Cornfoot."

He was all dark curls and grey-blue eyes, with a smile to melt hearts. One day he'd be a heartbreaker. Today he had a twin who couldn't do magic and all he could think about was what he could get Simon for their birthday. When he walked to the front of the classroom, it came hand in hand with a very near fall. He wouldn't have cared if he hit the ground, though, because knowing his luck it'd probably come with a stroke of genius and he'd suddenly know what to get his Squibbish brother.

"And Tracey Davis."

She was the girl who respected everyone. The only exceptions so far were Weasley, who was a prat, and Zacharias Smith, who really should have been a Slytherin, judging by the creepy stares aimed at his sister.

Not that she didn't get the protective instinct; she did. She had much the same thing with her own brother, Alex. He was just old enough to have missed the cut off for arranged marriages, and so he wasn't quite as unfortunate as she was now. She didn't resent him for that, of course not; Alex was her best friend, closer to her than the muggles she went to school with.

And there was something incredibly familiar about Stephen, something she couldn't place.

"Stephen Cornfoot." His voice was a thick accent from nowhere in the UK, and just like that she _knew_: he was more educated than he had any right to be, because _holy shit_ he was a pureblood.

"You went to the same school as me!" She shoved a finger at him.

"No, I didn't."

"Did too! You were in Mrs Cooper's class last year. 6B. I was in A. _You_ kissed Asha Marks!"

He turned bright red. "Drop it!"

She almost laughed. "_Make me._"

* * *

**Justin Finch-Fletchley and Lily Moon**

"Justin Finch-Fletchley."

He was somewhat of a genius, in the sense that he had watched his mum play connections for years and now he knew how to exploit them. So he wasn't a genius so much as a socialite, and he wasn't so much a socialite as a talker. He had managed lengthy conversations with pretty much everyone at Hogwarts at least once, from Draco Malfoy through to Ron Weasley.

What could he say? Maybe he knew how to play connections, but he was more humble than he was expected to be. It was a side effect of watching his favourite cousin stand up for absolutely everyone who needed it, back at normal school.

"And Lily Moon."

She was the girl who had smuggled a puppy into Hogwarts, never mind the rules about cats, owls and toads. The result of an affair between a member of the Japanese Ministry and a witchy Londoner, she had the rare illegitimate-child privilege of being in regular contact with her biological father. It was so he could use her, she knew that, but she didn't care. He was family, and family was more valuable than anything else.

She blinked at Justin, tilting her head. She knew him already – they talked quite often in Herbology, because she had adopted the seat at his side. Other than that, they spoke no more than she spoke to anyone else. She maintained her habit of isolating herself at the end of the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall, of writing endless poems and errant thoughts in her violet notebook. She looked at Justin and flicked it open now, scribbled a revelation: _silken hair, slate eyes, bloody hands_.

Justin read it upside down, eyebrows shooting up. "My hands aren't bloody, Moon."

She inclined her head in quiet agreement. "Not yet."

* * *

**Ernest Macmillan and Lisa Turpin**

"Ernest Macmillan."

He was listening more intently than anyone who knew him would expect. "Ernie," he corrected, but no one paid him any mind. No one ever really did, as he was just the odd academic Hufflepuff who didn't quite cut it for Ravenclaw.

He held no grudges, though. His intelligence was won through hard work and dedication. It was an avoidance of the blonde jokes that he'd met when he'd started at Hogwarts. He hadn't expected them, hadn't heard them before. And just wait until the grades for their exams came through at the end of term – just wait until he proved that he was _just_ as clever as Granger.

"And Lisa Turpin."

She was pretty, in a possibly-maybe sense of the word. Her pale hair and eyes made her seem ethereal and eerie. She was certainly substantial, though, and this had landed her in with the worst possible luck when she had started her classes. She'd run right into an older Slytherin, who had promptly nicknamed her clumsy Turnip Turpin. And there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

So she stood facing a boy made up of darker shades of her own complexion. His eyes were as blue as the ocean she had grown up alongside, while her own were as black as the Lake. Both so close to water, she mused, it must be almost meant to be.

"I wish it was warm enough to swim," she muttered, her lilting voice almost a song. He frowned.

"Haven't you thought of wearing a wetsuit?"

"How do _you_ know what a wetsuit is?" she retorted. He tugged on his sleeve, revealing that his arms weren't quite so dark as his hands. "You have a tan in winter?"

"I went to some island over break. Surfing."

She glared. "_Not_ _fair_."

* * *

**Roger Malone and Sue Li**

"Roger Malone."

He was still trying to work out what it was that made a Huffflepuff distinct from the other houses. Slytherins were cunning and ambitious, but then so was Zacharias, yet he was a Hufflepuff. Ravenclaws were clever and witty, but so was Cassie, who made up for what she lacked in sarcasm with honey soaked bittersweet cleverness. Gryffindors were reckless and brave, just like Ernie – Hufflepuff number three.

So what did that make a Hufflepuff who _wasn't _cunning or clever or reckless? What did that make _him_? He still wasn't one hundred per cent certain, and he'd been trying to work it out since September.

Ah, who was he kidding? He wasn't even a tiny bit sure. He had no idea at all.

"And Sue Li."

She was Chinese and one hundred per cent pureblood. She needed to state that up front, primarily because her brothers would _not_ drop the infernal _gossip_: that their mum had an affair with a Death Eater and _that_ was why she was a snake and not an eagle. Never mind that it was just a fluke that came from her being more interested in _using_ information than absorbing it.

_Merlin_, she groaned mentally, tightening her hold on her Charms textbook as she looked him over. She didn't expect him to speak right away, and yet:

"What's a Hufflepuff?"

She didn't blink. "Loyal, hardworking, dedicated. Understated, usually back-benched at Hogwarts." She hesitated for several beats. "Undervalued."

He breathed out, looking for all the world as though he had been holding it for long minutes and not mere seconds. Then he smiled crookedly, offering her his hand to shake. "_Thank_ you. No one was giving me an answer."

"No one at all?" She took his hand gingerly, grip still tight on her textbook.

"No one but you."

* * *

**Oliver Rivers and Alice Tolipan**

"Oliver Rivers."

He was of Southern Asian descent, a mix of mostly Indian and Pakistani blood, refreshed in the last sixty years or so after centuries of mixing with British society. He was distantly related to one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, specifically the Shafiq line from back before they had died out in the United Kingdom.

And yet, he didn't care about the reputation. Muggles were the interesting ones, after all, the ones who had evolved to survive without magic. He was a strongly opinionated boy, and as far as he was concerned, their culture was just so much _more_ than its' magical counterpart. There was just something that appealed about inanimate portraits and unchanging landscapes, about sculptures that didn't shout compliments or insults depending on something one couldn't change, about the _music_. It was just better when muggles made it.

His short fingers tapped against his leg, the familiar beat soothing him. It was probably odd that _Smooth Criminal_ was his favourite brand of therapy.

"And Alice Tolipan."

She was average in just about every way: dull hazel eyes, alabaster skin and soft pink lips. Only her hair, long and smooth and a shade bordering both orange and brown, stood out. This was natural for her, just like her talent for football, fidgeting fingers and her muggle blood.

She shifted from foot to foot, her ankle burning where she had sprained it almost two years ago. Paradoxically, it only ached when she hadn't played for a while; none of the other Gryffindors really liked to play and home had been covered in snow over Christmas. She eyed Oliver, assessing him. "Do you know anything about muggle sports?"

"Just soccer and cricket."

"It's called football." Her smile was bright and a little bit beautiful. "Oh, am I gonna have fun with you."

* * *

**Zacharias Smith and Pansy Parkinson**

"Zacharias Smith."

He was not popular, not well-liked or respected. He intimidated his peers, who thought he looked like a movie villain, with an equine nose, icy blue eyes and dark hair slicked back. He was a half-blood with a muggle-born for a step-sister, a girl named Sally who had been sorted into Hufflepuff first. He probably would have been in Slytherin, if not for the fact that she had been sorted literally a minute before him.

He had an older sister, too, a muggle who was his step-fathers child. She was pretentious and cruel, and she was the reason his only loyalty was to Sally. The literally little girl needed someone, _anyone_, to protect her, especially as she'd been assigned to wed one of the biggest bullies in the school.

Zacharias would be seething over that for a long time.

"And Pansy Parkinson."

She was infamous among first-years, the Slytherin Princess in anything but name. She had no father, as far as she was concerned, balanced on the edge of her would-be rebellious stage as she was. Her older sister was strict, following every rule, but Pansy was the spoiled one – of course she was, being the younger of the two. She gave Zacharias a once-over and smirked at him.

He noticed this quicker than she had expected, given he was so obviously not Ravenclaw material. "What're you looking at?"

She considered what replies she might give. The best, she decided, was what her older sister said whenever she looked Pansy over. "Potential."

His eyebrows went _way_ up in response to _that_ – evidently, he knew more than she expected. Like definitions, for example. "I am not some game for you to play, Parkinson."

"Please," she spoke with a sickly sweet voice, "call me Pansy. It's only right."

* * *

**Wordcount:** 300 each, 1800 total.

1\. **Stephen Cornfoot** / pureblood / Charlie McDermott - **Tracey Davis** / halfblood / Eva Kay  
2\. **Justin Finch-Fletchley** / muggleborn / Chord Overstreet - **Lily Moon** / pureblood / Rinko Kikuchi  
3\. **Ernest 'Ernie' Macmillan** / pureblood / Freddie Stroma - **Lisa Turpin** / muggleborn / Nina Nesbitt  
4\. **Roger Malone** / muggleborn / Francisco Lachowski - **Sue Li** / pureblood / Fan Bingbing  
5\. **Oliver Rivers** / pureblood / Suraj Sharma - **Alice Tolipan** / muggleborn / Louisa Connolly-Burnham  
6\. **Zacharias Smith** / halfblood / Richard Harmon - **Pansy Parkinson** / pureblood / Krysten Ritter

**A/N:** Would you look at that, I've finally finished my first impressions series - how's that for unusual? That said, _Snakeskin_ is still a little away from an update. I have to catch up on some notes for university tomorrow.

I also feel the need to point out that most of the faceclaims I list on these _are not relevant _(beyond colouring and general faceshape) _until they hit at least 15 years of age_. Some of them I have faceclaims in mind for that fit them at age 11 (and not many of them involve just looking up pictures from ten years ago), but not all of them.

**And** finally, a big thanks to _fictionlover94_, who gave me some ideas for the Slytherin girls, particularly Tracey and Sue.


End file.
